


Crushed

by icandrawamoth



Series: RP-inspired [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Animal Death, Break Up, Exes, F/M, M/M, Moths, Pets, Revenge, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-25
Updated: 2014-04-25
Packaged: 2018-01-20 17:57:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1519919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been a few weeks since Combeferre and Marius broke up. After an argument, Combeferre returns home to a nasty surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crushed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msieurmariuspontmercy on Tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=msieurmariuspontmercy+on+Tumblr).



> Based on a "break my muse's heart in one sentence" meme for which my Marius sent me the text used in the fic.

It is a surprise to no one that Combeferre likes moths. He has been interested in them since he was a child. While his friends might have chased colorful butterflies during the day, at night he would have his nose pressed to the window watching the moths, the way they strove toward the light, wings flickering in the dark.

Even now, he keeps the fascination. While some might have a collection of moths, as in a board with dead things pinned to it, Combeferre vastly prefers his specimens alive. There are two shelves in his tiny apartment study which hold jars of the creatures, nearly a dozen in all. There are several different varieties, from the common gray and whites he has captured near his porch light to the more exotic, brightly-colored species he has ordered specially.

He likes spending time with them, studying them as well as just watching. Often, when he has had a long day, rather than watching TV or taking out a book, he will pull up a chair in front of his moths and just enjoy their presence, the soft movements of their wings and simplicity of their routines soothing. One or twice, he’s even let a few out of their jars to flutter freely around the room with him for a time.

Never while Marius was around, though. His ex-boyfriend hadn’t liked them at all and stayed as far away from them as possible, asking that they be kept tightly under wraps when he was at home. That was why they were in the study to begin with, instead of in the common areas where they had been before. Combeferre hadn’t moved them back yet.

He sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face as he climbs out of his car. He needs the peace his pets can give him today. His day at the hospital had been long and arduous, and he’d spent his entire break arguing with Marius after he’d called to request that he return his key now that they were no longer living together. Even Éponine hadn’t been able to make him feel much better with the lingering kiss she had given him as he left, with eyes that still apologized for taking him away from Marius even after it was plain that they weren’t going to work out.

Combeferre had loved Marius, or so he thought. They had told each other so on numerous occasion. But then, after a few months, things had started to fizzle out. They were intimate less and less often, and each spent more time away from home, with more fights when they were together. Nothing either had done could seem to patch the hole that somehow developed.

Then there was Éponine. The two of them had gone out once, just dinner between friends and coworkers, and it had been a relief to tell his difficulties to a sympathetic ear. One thing had led to another, and when they parted at the end of the night, she’d had something else to say. She told him that she had always been interested in him and thought he might feel the same, though she would never intrude on his current relationship. She told him that if he and Marius were truly finished, she would be there for him. Then she had kissed him, briefly, chastely, and walked away.

He was interested. After so long at odds with Marius, he had craved a connection like he felt he had with her. One more attempted discussion with his boyfriend that quickly devolved into a shouting match had been the end. Marius announced that he was moving out, and two days later all his things were gone.

A week after that, Combeferre and Éponine went on their first date. They hit it off instantly. The chemistry, the connection and excitement was like Combeferre remembered the early days with Marius being, but better. Now, only a few weeks later, he feels closer to her than he ever has anyone else he has been with.

That doesn’t mean he feels no pain. Part of him is still guilty for everything that has happened, any pain he had inadvertently caused Marius throughout their relationship, and the way it ended. And he knows the fact that he is now seeing Éponine makes it even harder on his ex. Long before any of this had happened, Éponine and Marius had skirted around their own attraction to each other. Nothing had ever come of it, but Combeferre knows it can’t feel good for Marius to see the two of them together now.

He doesn’t even want to think about it. All he wants to do now is get inside, brew himself a nice strong cup of tea and sit with his moths. He has a few eggs he’d just gotten a few days ago, and he’s eager to check on their progress. They should be hatching soon.

The first sign that something is amiss is when he reaches the door to find it unlocked. He always locks it when he leaves for work, a habit long ingrained. He had even done it when Marius lived with him and was still home when he left. It means someone has been here. Enjolras and Courfeyrac are out of town for a trial, which leaves Marius the only other one with a key.

Combeferre’s heart is suddenly in his throat, though he’s not sure why. Marius had no reason to be here. He hadn’t left anything that Combeferre was aware of. Yes, their argument that afternoon had been heated, but it wasn’t like Marius would do anything. Then why…?

Taking a deep breath, Combeferre pushes open the door and goes in. Nothing seems to be amiss. The kitchen and living room are in order, the doors to the bedroom, bathroom, and study closed. He frowns as he closes the front door behind him and sets his things on the counter. Perhaps he had just forgotten to lock the door. He _had_ been in a bit of a rush, having been thoroughly distracted by his girlfriend as he had been trying to get ready.

He tries to dismiss it then, setting the tea to brew and going to his bedroom to change. Dressed in an old t-shirt and soft sweatpants, he returns and collects his tea and picks up the book he’s been reading from the side table in the living room before heading to his study.

The moment he pushes, the door open, he sees it. The book drops from his limp hand, though he has the presence of mind to keep hold of the mug, just managing to set it on the desk with shaking hands before he turns back, and the scene hits him again like a kick to the heart.

The floor is littered with shattered glass. Broken bits of jars and the metal and fabric tops are scattered across the pale carpet, interspersed with the limp bodies of his beloved moths. He less kneels than drops as he knees give out, reaching out a trembling hand to touch one, a large _yponomeutinae_ which had always been one of his favorites and the oldest in his collection. The little thing is laying under half a jar, the jagged edges of glass having ripped into its delicate gray and white wings.

They’re all dead. He counts them, ten broken little bodies strewn among the wreckage. And on one piece of glass, a little white smear, nearby the leaf the eggs he had been so excited about had been attached to. Everything gone.

Combeferre chokes back a sob. On some level, he knows it shouldn’t be important. No one has died, no person anyway. He isn’t hurt, nor his monetarily valuable property. And yet, these are things he cared so much about, took such care of and such interest in. They were important to him, meant so much.

Marius knew that. And yet still he had destroyed them. Grief and disbelief crowd Combeferre’s mind so much there is nearly no room for anger. He’s trying to decide what to do, forming a hazy plan that involves what to do with the precious creatures and how to clean up the glass when his phone vibrates in his pocket.

The timing is too good. His schedule hasn’t changed much; Marius still knows what time he gets home from work on which days. Shaking, he pulls out the phone and reads the text.

_I killed all of your moths and Éponine is just using you to make me jealous. She doesn’t love you._

He has no idea how to respond. Marius won’t even deny what he’s done, knowing how hurtful it is. And the jab at Éponine. Combeferre knows it’s a lie, another desperate attempt to hurt him, and it works. Even the thought is painful. But he’s seen the look in her eyes when she tells him she loves him and he knows, _he knows_ , that Marius’s words are lies.

He can barely think, can’t even begin to formulate a proper response, to be angry or demand repayment or anything. All he can do is watch, almost detached, as his fingers type out a reply.

_Why?_

Why? He had never thought Marius capable of something like this. He got angry sometimes, shaped words to hurt like everyone did when arguing, but Combeferre would never have expected him to strike back in such a way.

He kneels there, tears finally beginning to drip down his face, surrounded by the wreckage of so much he has loved, and waits for a response. He doesn’t know if he’ll even get one.


End file.
